


Where The Apples Grow In Winter

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Beauxbatons Student Scorpius Malfoy, Community: hp_nextgen_fest, Epistolary, Fluff, France (Country), HP Next Gen Fest 2018, Harry Potter Next Generation, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Pen Pals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-06 05:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16382474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: Albus was determined not to join in with the Owl Exchange at first, but he didn't count on the awkward charms of a sweet, lonely boy who, by history's reckoning, he was definitely supposed to hate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the mods of this fest for putting it together and being lovely and patient! Thank you also to L, for beautiful beta-ing even in the face of horrible uni work. I hope this bundle of pining and sweetness does the prompt justice!

A thick white envelope taunted Albus from on top of his Potions book, the precise corners obscuring the section of text detailing the _Moste Common Uses for Cat Claws in Householde Potions._ A smudge of green wax marred the creamy, luxurious stationery, obviously personalised and ordered especially, and the neat font on the front addressed the contents to _A.S.P._

It was a very judgemental letter, in Albus’s opinion. It seemed to eye him with the same shrewd look that followed him around Hogwarts, that look that seemed to say _who would want to talk to you?_

“Are you going to open it, or are you going to keep being a wimp?” 

Albus shot a sullen look at Lily over the envelope, shrugging one shoulder as he went back to scribbling on his essay. Lily propped her chin up on her hand and stared at him, her wide, brown eyes made darker by the smear of blue eyeliner daubed above her thin lashes. Albus didn't know how she got away with wearing bright makeup at school, or having the occasional streak of colour in her hair, but she did. McGonagall bore it with a twitch of her eye, possibly resigned to the fact that this was a war that no amount of Howlers or detentions would win. James was the only one who ever told her to wipe her lipstick off, and that was because she looked better in it than he did, and he found that highly offensive. 

“You know it won’t go away,” Lily said, digging a battered square of Droobles out of her pocket and popping it in her mouth. “It’s going to keep hounding you until you answer it, so you may as well get it over with.”

Albus knew that. Albus knew that because he’d been putting up with it for bloody ages, thank you very much. There were spells in place to ensure that the letters didn't go ignored by either recipient, spells that would allow this particularly judgemental envelope to bob along after Albus no matter where he went, occasionally threatening him with a papercut to get him to open the seal.

McGonagall had explained everything during their Welcome Back Feast, at the beginning of their Seventh Year. An owl exchange, she had said, between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons was supposed to mend the shaky relationship between both schools. They had been up in arms after something went sour between Hagrid and Madame Maxime a little while ago, although technically that last bit wasn’t common knowledge. Anyone who knew Hagrid knew about it though. Actually, anyone who had ever been in the vicinity of Hagrid in their lifetime knew about it. 

“It’s been, what, two weeks since we started school?” Lily popped her gum with an obnoxious smack of her lips, and a sea-blue bubble escaped her mouth and floated up to hover above their heads, lingering beside a dripping candle. “Fourteen whole days since McGee told your year what was happening. You’d think you’d have gotten used to the idea of all this by now.”

Albus knew that if he scowled at Lily, or even vaguely implied that she wasn’t being as helpful as she thought she was, he’d find something soggy and disgusting in his bed later. He scowled at the envelope instead. He didn't _want_ to write to some stranger in France. He wanted to finish his essay, scrape through his exams, and apply for that apprenticeship in the Apothecary at Diagon Alley, since Potions was the only thing he was remotely good at, despite his family’s continued bafflement at this fact.

“Al,” Lily said, sighing as she leaned a little further over their table. “It’s not that hard. It doesn’t have to be a letter full of your tragic life story and your deepest, darkest secrets. You don’t have to tell them about your hopes and dreams for the future. You don't even have to tell them your last name if you don't want to. Just chat to them, tell them about your day, and stop _worrying_ about it all.”

A horde of Lily’s friends gathered at the library door then, ignoring the hisses from Madam Pince as they beckoned Lily over impatiently. Lily threw them a lazy wave and stood up, gathering the one solitary book that Albus knew she had only brought so as not to look like she was pitying Albus when she joined him an hour ago.

“Who knows, you might even make a friend out of it,” Lily said. She rubbed his shoulder as she passed, always a tactile person, and then skipped out of the library. Albus watched the crowd that congregated around her with the usual rush of thoughtful envy. He didn’t particularly want a hundred adoring fans, or even ten friends to bother him when he wanted to be alone, but one or two might have been nice. Maybe just the confidence to go out and get a few. 

Albus looked down at his suddenly unappealing essay and grunted to himself. His eyes strayed to the envelope, and his mouth turned down. He picked up the envelope gingerly and after another moment's hesitation, started peeling away the wax seal. If it was full of slugs, or something worse, he could always just use them in his next potions class. 

His ink-stained fingers left imprints on the pristine parchment when he pulled the letter out, and he blinked for a moment at the blank page.

He turned it over, but there was nothing there. A full minute passed as he stared, uncomprehending, and then his ears began to heat up. He scoffed and threw the letter down, feeling an inkling of humiliation creep up his spine as he hunched his shoulders, sinking a little in his seat. A glance around the library showed that nobody was paying him the least bit of attention, which was familiar. 

So his assigned partner hadn’t wanted to write to him, so what? It had been a clever way to do it while avoiding suspicion, Albus could admit that. It looked like compliance on the surface, but then beneath it all was nothing. Maybe he could just send a blank letter back, and he’d never have to do the dumb owl exchange anyway. 

He picked up the envelope, perfectly happy to scrunch it into a ball and lob it towards the nearest bin, subsequently getting himself kicked out of the library, when his thumb grazed his initials printed on the front. There was a faint flash of blue, and then the blank page on the table began to fill with writing. 

“Uh,” Albus said, a little louder than he meant to. Someone shushed him from another table, and he flipped them off without looking, hoping it wasn’t the librarian. He picked up the letter with hesitant fingertips and held it a little closer, shuffling his glasses up his nose as the words faded into view.

_Greetings, A.S.P!_

Albus blinked, and then snorted. Greetings. Who started a letter with the word greetings? The exclamation mark looked friendly, eager. He felt his mouth twitch and hunkered down to read the rest of the letter. 

_I wasn’t given your full name, just the initials, so I’ll call you that until you want me to change my address, if you don't mind. I suppose there’s not much I can do if you do mind until you write back, if you write back, but there we go. I hope this letter reaches you well, and that you’re in good health. Is that what people say in letters? I’ve never written to a stranger before._

_In all honesty, I’m not quite sure what to say. Our Professor, Madame Allaire, gave us a few pointers in class, but I tend not to listen to her because she has such an awful habit of spitting when she speaks that I end up watching her mouth instead of listening to her words, looking for the moment when I’ll have to lean back. Or dive under the desk to avoid the next wave._

_I suppose that wasn’t on the list of things that she wanted me to talk about. I could tell you about me, but that seems presumptuous, doesn’t it, that you’d want to know? I’ll tell you a few things anyway, so I don't end up talking about the weather, although it’s quite nice here actually, and then maybe you can tell me about you. I was born in England, surprisingly, and I moved to France with my family a few years before I was due to start school. We ended up living in this little village that sells really nice cheese. My French is still sort of awful. The first thing I learned was to ask my Grandmother to pass the cheese, please, and now she sends me postcards when she travels that have pictures of cheeses on them, I presume because she’s old and thinks it’s funny to make fun of her beloved grandson._

_I’m not fond of languages, but I love Charms. Some people insist that it’s an easy subject, but I don't agree. Charms covers so many bases, and it’s impossible to learn them all, and the smallest mistake can lead to a world of catastrophe, as I discovered a few weeks ago, now that I think about it. I was trying to Charm the curtains at home to open at precisely eight in the morning every day, but instead I encouraged them to have a bit of a fist-fight. I must say, it makes for a fun way to start the day. Merlin, I’ve already devolved into nerdery, as one of my classmates ‘affectionately’ calls it. Apologies, A.S.P._

_I assume this letter business will get easier the more we talk and learn about each other. I feel sorry for the poor owls, having to go to France and England all the time without a break in between. My mother volunteers at a sanctuary for owls, and she views this exchange with very stern eyes. I hope you have an owl of your own, so that you’re not battling with school owls. Mine is called Hector Von Strudel. Please, don't ask._

_I’ll give you my name, because my Grandmother always told me that the best way to start off a new friendship is with a handshake and a proper introduction, which I can’t very well do over paper, so this is my best shot. I’ll understand, though, if you’d rather not reply._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy._

Albus sat back slowly, the parchment falling to the table. He didn't know what to make of the letter. Reluctantly, he had to admit that it had actually made him grin a bit in places. The person behind the quill had been genuine and earnest, if a bit awkwardly formal, but he didn't know what to make of the last part. 

He knew the name Malfoy. Anybody with knowledge of any sort of history knew the name Malfoy. Draco Malfoy had gone to school here at Hogwarts and been on the wrong side of the war here, but the details were never discussed. Something to do with Dumbledore and Death Eaters. The few times the Malfoy’s had come up in conversation, Uncle Ron had made a rude noise, Aunt Hermione had pursed her lips, and Dad had been oddly close-mouthed about it all, a pinched look around his eyes. All of that painted a rather unnerving picture, and Albus, despite what other people may think, had more tact than most of his family put together. He knew when not to bring something up. 

The whole thing made him uneasy. He pictured what his family would say if they realised he was talking to a Malfoy, of all people, and the thought of their reaction made him squirm uncomfortably in his chair. He picked up the letter again and read it through, ignoring the signature at the bottom. It still made him grin, quiet and small, to himself. 

The thing was, even though Albus’s family might have been outraged to know that Albus had gotten a letter from Draco’s son, Albus felt a strong compulsion to write back. He was more than a little intrigued by this boy. Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. It was a name that James would have taken the piss out of in his cheerful way that probably would have made Scorpius like him, impossibly, because James had this way about him that endeared people to him when they should really be running in the other direction.

It was just the last bit of the name that might be a bit of a problem.

But this boy, regardless of his last name, had seemed friendly and funny and eager to get to know Albus. And he had been honest, despite the very real chance that Albus would refuse to answer him once he knew the truth. Albus pictured a boy, sitting at school, anxiously awaiting a letter that he knew would probably never arrive, nervous and hopeful and resigned, and he squirmed again, equally as uncomfortable with that image as he was with the image of his family erupting. 

Sighing, Albus gathered up his things and carefully put the letter back in its envelope. He didn't have any stationary, fancy or not, just plain parchment and a few chewed quills, but he was pretty sure there were sets in McGonagall’s office for the Seventh Years to use if they didn't have their own. 

He didn't have to pour his heart out to Scorpius. He could just chat to him, make a friend - that was what this whole thing was about, after all. There didn't have to be anything deeper, and it wasn’t like he was going to meet Scorpius. He just had to send him a few letters.

He found himself smiling again as he thought of fist-fighting curtains, and resolutely decided not to let Lily know that she had been right about anything. He would never, ever hear the end of it.

***

Scorpius was at breakfast when the letter came. His toast was buttered and half-eaten, and he was washing it all down with a goblet of juice before class began when an owl swooped elegantly over the thinning sea of heads and skidded to a stop beside his plate. It blinked at him with beady eyes, scruffy feathers fluffed up all over the place, and stuck out a twig-like leg. The envelope was a deep green, with gold ink on the front. 

_S.H.M_

Scorpius hurried to untie the envelope, absently discarding the bit of thick yarn from around the impatient owl’s leg. It snatched up Scorpius’s leftover toast and flew off with a tired hoot to nest on one of the crystal perches scattered around the hall, leaving Scorpius clutching the envelope in a deathly grip. 

“Scorpius? Have you finished?” 

Scorpius jumped. He turned wildly around to find Elodie standing there, one eyebrow raised delicately as she tapped her foot. Wild auburn curls were arranged artfully over her shoulder, and an expensive jewel gleamed at her throat. Scorpius stuffed his letter in his pocket before fumbling with his bags. 

“You’re behaving strangely,” Elode said, watching him clamber over the bench, uncharacteristically graceless. “If you act like this in Alchemy and we end up with a low mark, I’ll be displeased.”

She stalked ahead, her nose high in the air. Elodie was perhaps the closest thing to having a friend that Scorpius could find in Beauxbatons. She usually collected him after meals and walked with him to their various classes, and occasionally she would walk with him around the gardens, and to the quaint, sprawling village nearby before disappearing with her other friends, but other than that, Scorpius spent most of his time alone. 

The few classmates that deigned to talk to Scorpius were usually kind enough to speak English, if only because his grasp of other languages was abhorrent and his pronunciation could easily make ears bleed. He had people to talk to, if he needed notes or someone to pass the jug of juice at breakfast, but it wasn’t quite the same as having a friend. 

It wasn’t all bad. He had his owl, Hector, and his family lived in a Mansion just a Floo call away, and he had his books and his bicycle and the fountain in the garden that he sat by at lunch, sketching and studying. And now, he didn't just have all of that. 

The letter burned a hole in his pocket. It wasn’t until lunchtime that he managed to break away from the crowds flowing through the halls. He didn't have a class until two, and his study schedule required that he do three quarters of an hour of studying, but that left a full twenty-five minutes to sit at the fountain on the main lawn and read the letter. 

The parchment was flimsy, a cream colour, threaded with paler greens. Scorpius’s fingers shook a little as he opened the envelope, snapping off the red wax seal and pocketing it. He liked collecting things, even if other people found it strange. His room at home was full of old tickets and receipts and butterbeer corks. Maps and brochures from all their travels pasted his walls, and even the ceiling of his four-poster bed in the dormitory was covered in little clusters of stickers and leaflets. Now, hopefully, if the letter was positive, he’d have a collection of wax circles, too, and letters to pin to his corkboard. 

He opened the letter, told himself quite firmly to calm down and not be disappointed if the contents were cruel and disparaging, and then began to read. 

_Hello Scorpius,_

_Thanks for telling me the truth about your name. I guess I better return the favour, and I won’t mind if you run for the hills, seeing as our family don't exactly have the best history, as far as I can tell. Nobody really talks about it, but I can read between the lines, and it’s kind of obvious. If it helps, I’m not going to tell anybody that it’s you I’m writing to, just so I can avoid a full-on war, because I reckon my family might have something to say about it, and I don't rightly care if they do, but this is just easier. I’m not a fan of conflict. I don't mind if you do the same, but if you want to say something, that’s fine too._

_I guess it’s nice to meet you. It’s weird, writing to someone I’ve never met, but your letter was funny, and even if I didn't want to do this in the first place because I think it’s stupid, you seem nice enough. Also, I kind of want to know more about the curtains. Do they actually punch each other? Strangle each other with the tassles? It sounds like the kind of Charm my brother would cook up on purpose as a prank. I’m no good at Charms. I’m not very good at most classes, but Potions is alright - it’s a bit like cooking, which I’ve seen my dad do loads._

_I was a bit worried I’d have to try and write in French. Trust me, no matter how bad you think you are, I’m worse. I can’t speak any languages really, but my sister is fluent in Spanish, German, and weirdly, Welsh. Not sure why. I can say dog in Turkish though, because I tried to memorise all the words for dog when I was little, so I could hound (ha) my parents until they got me one, but that’s the only one that stuck. Kopek, in case you were wondering, although you sound pretty smart, so you’d probably be able to find that out easily enough._

_You’re right, I reckon, that this comes easier when you keep at it. I really didn't want to do it. Most people look at my last name and want to be my friend because of it, and then it turns out they don't like what they find, so they bugger off again. That’s happened a few times now. The rest of my family are a bit better at dealing with the last name stuff, but dad says the older lot just have more practice, and the younger lot just have more balls. Well, he didn't say that, but that was the gist._

_What was the charm you used in your letter, by the way? I couldn’t read anything until I touched the letters on the envelope. I almost threw it away, thinking it was a joke. I’m glad it wasn’t, though._

_(Your owl’s name? I know you said not to ask, but there’s no way I’m not asking about that.)_

_Anyway, I guess I’ll hear from you soon, if you want to keep writing. Hope you’re okay,_

_Albus Severus Potter._

Scorpius put the letter down on his lap and smoothed it out. The only words in his head were the vulgar kind that would have dad pointing a finger at him threateningly. Potter. It had to be a Potter, didn't it? It couldn’t have been a Thomas, or a Nott, or a Shacklebolt, could it? No, it had to be a Potter. 

Not that a Potter was a bad thing, but he could still clearly hear his dad’s frequent irritated mutterings over the _Daily Prophet_ , which he had flown in from England every day. There was no doubt in his mind that all the other Malfoys and their friends would be less than pleased if Scorpius wrote back. 

Scorpius didn't have anything against Potters because he didn't know any. He knew all about them, and the war. He’d heard about the war in class and read about it furtively in the school library, and Grandma was usually pretty forthcoming if he had questions, although her eyes always grew distant and sad, full of regret. With everyone’s way of treating him, Scorpius had made it his business to know everything there was to know. 

He knew his dad had been on the wrong side. Dad had told him, when he was a bit younger, and then Scorpius had researched it himself later on. It was why they had _moved_ for Merlin’s sake, so it would be sort of stupid to have a problem with the Potters, considering they were supposed to be the good guys, according to the rest of the world. 

And they were the good guys, Scorpius was sure. Yet it was almost impossible for him to look at his dad and see a bad guy, like the world insisted he should. Draco Malfoy was a bit of an idiot, but he wasn’t cruel. He made horrible, dry jokes, and he flushed whenever his mother said something lewd. He ranted about the inadequacies of certain establishments and then poured money into them to make them better. He wasn’t allowed in the kitchen on pain of death. He read Scorpius bedtime stories even now, at the age of seventeen, and he was gentle and sharp and kind and derisive all at the same time. He loved his family. He wasn’t a bad guy. 

Upset, Scorpius glanced down at the letter. What was he supposed to do with all of this?

Albus didn't seem too bothered about the last name. He wasn’t going to tell anyone about it, but that was because he didn't like conflict. It didn't have to be a _secret_ , Scorpius reasoned, just something that was private. He played with the edge of the letter a little guiltily. He didn't particularly like keeping secrets, especially from his family. 

He was never going to meet Albus, so surely there was no harm in writing back? Albus had written back. Albus was the one who should have been disgusted by all of this, and demanded a new partner. But he had written back. And if nothing else, Malfoys were polite, Scorpius thought, with a firm nod. Not writing back would be rude. 

He would write back. He would write back, and everything would be fine, and hopefully he would make something close to a friend out of this.


	2. Chapter 2

Albus read through the letter again and again. He’d been doing that with every new letter that appeared at his windowsill, preceded by the tap of an impatient, hungry beak on the glass. Hector Von Strudel was warming to Albus, slowly, if only because Albus usually had a treat within grabbing distance. The letters never arrived in the mornings, during the usual breakfast mail-rush, but rather in the evenings. He didn't mind. He sort of preferred it that way, actually. It meant he could read in peace, in the dormitory, without anyone trying to be nosy or read over his shoulder. 

Although truthfully he didn't have many people that were interested in what he was doing, so he wasn’t too worried about being found grinning like a goblin down at a piece of parchment. Still, Slytherins liked to be in each others business, which meant snooping around in personal belongings occasionally, and Lily was the most curious, interfering person in the world. 

He hadn’t told her that he’d been writing to Scorpius, which was going to bite him in the arse when she found out. If. When. 

He hadn’t told anyone yet, except Scorpius, obviously. He just read the letters in private, folded them back up and hid them away, and then brought them out again to read whenever he was alone, smiling the whole time. He wrote his own letters when he should have been studying for Transfiguration, tucked away in the library, shrouded in candlelight. They couldn’t write too many, what with the distance and the strain on the owls, but Albus still got a couple a week.

There was always this small, pleasantly warm feeling in his chest and stomach whenever he read something Scorpius had written. He found himself looking forward to each evening, just in case. He couldn’t help but wonder if the excitement was mutual, if Scorpius got a thrill whenever one of Albus’s letters arrived. 

They hadn’t really broached serious topics yet, but some serious moments snuck in when Albus wasn’t paying attention to his quill. It was easier than expected to talk to Scorpius. Mostly it was just chatter about their daily life, little bits of information about their family and school. Scorpius had told him that he’d always wanted a sibling, and Albus had told him all about Lily and James.

_James doesn’t think anyone can tell, but he’s completely in love with Teddy Lupin, our Godbrother. Which might sound weird, but it’s really not. And if you see them together, even for a second, you can tell they’re basically meant for each other. I’d like something like that, I think._

_Lily pretends not to be as smart as she is, I think so that people will like her. She’s really, really smart though. She reads all these complicated books and she can do debates for ages and write the longest essays in the world, and she just knows things. I think you’d like her, and I reckon she’d like you, too._

_James is amazing at Quidditch, and he made me less afraid of brooms when I was younger after I broke my nose falling off, which was nice. Not the nose-breaking, but the fact that James helped. Sometimes we still race around the Burrow, my Grandparents’ house, but not as much as I’d like because he’s pretty busy these days. Don't tell him, but I miss him, even though he’s an arse._

Albus told Scorpius about the time they went camping in Wales and their tent blew away in a storm, and Scorpius told him about his family, and the places they travelled. 

_Dad really likes to travel, says that the world is kinder where they don't know who we are. The word Malfoy isn’t as widely-known as people might think, so we don't have to go too far, but I like exploring anyway. I wanted to be an explorer when I was younger, and Dad admitted that he did, too. He wanted to solve important historical mysteries, which explains where I got my ‘nerdery’ from. Grandma called him a passionate nerd, the other day, and I think it was fondly meant but he still went on a huff._

_We went to Italy last year, and I ate so much food in Rome that they almost had to roll me home. The hotel was really fancy, even by Dad’s standards, and Mum stole lots of those little bottles of shampoo and conditioner because apparently they’re much better than anything the wizarding world has to offer. Grandma stole an entire pillow, and we made a game out of it, trying to sneak the most absurd things past the front desk. Grandma won._

_We went sailing - not-so-shocking newsflash, I am bad at sailing, but I liked being on the water in the evening, which the sky all dark and the air all cool. We were all under blankets on the boat, watching the other boats as the sun set. I don't know how you feel about the beach, but I feel as though you would have liked the quiet part, afterwards. I wish you had been there._

_Dad bought me a ridiculous suit in Germany that I’ll probably have to wear to some stuffy function or other. Dad doesn’t enjoy making me go, but he turns a blind eye when I sit under the tables and eat stolen crackers and cheese. I wanted the suit with rhinestones on it, but alas, I was denied._

It was strange, nice, _fun_ , to have someone to talk to as the weeks went by, and he didn't know how to feel half the time, or what the shaky sensation in his chest meant whenever a letter arrived. 

Albus had never enjoyed school, not the way that everyone else seemed to. He thought it was probably fun when you had close friends and you didn't mind being away from home, but Albus found it a bit lonely. It was stupid, he thought, to feel lonely in a castle full of people, but he couldn’t help it. The feeling didn't go away when he went home at breaks, either, never had and probably never would, considering this was his last year. He still felt… like he was on the outside, like there was a layer of frosted glass between him and everyone else. 

He told Scorpius this, hesitant at first, and then growing in confidence the more he wrote. When he sent off the letter, ink-stained and frowning, he felt a bit better, even if he couldn’t help but worry about the response. The worry tickled him for a few days, following him to class and looming over him as he studied and played chess with Lily, and then a familiar owl loomed up onto the windowsill of his dormitory. He devoured the contents eagerly, bouncing onto his bed and drawing the curtains around him, lighting his wand to give the dark space a friendly glow.

_Lonesome isn’t the same as being alone. I know a bit about that, I think. There are always people around in a school as big as this, but never anyone who wants to talk to me. If they do want to talk to me, somehow I feel even more alone than ever, because I don't feel the way they do or I don't say the right things. I don't feel close to them. It’s hard to explain. You can be lonesome in a room crowded with people, though, is what I intended to say. I understand, Al. I hope that helps, knowing it’s not just you._

Scorpius understood a surprising amount of what Albus had to say, which only made him want to say more. He was still cautious about spilling everything he was thinking out onto paper though. Words had never come easily to him before, but now that they were, he was starting to wonder if it was the calm before the storm, if the other shoe was going to drop soon and he was going to end up with a letter returned to him, unopened, or one full of derision. He wasn’t sure which would be worse. 

It didn't make him stop writing, though.

***

Scorpius knew that it was suspicious, to spend so much of his usually free time in his room when he went home at the weekends, but he found it almost impossible to stop. He still wanted to talk to Mum about her greenhouse and how the Mandrakes were coming along, and he wanted to sit and read with Dad in his study, laughing as he made rude remarks about the characters in his books. He still liked baking with Grandma, even though she kept insisting that apple tart was supposed to taste like that when it _definitely_ wasn’t. And he did all of those things, when he could.

He just also really wanted to talk to Albus, too. And he couldn’t do that without a quill and some parchment, and he couldn’t do that without a thousand unsubtle questions from various nosy family members, and he couldn’t deal with _that_ without stressing out and feeling anxious. 

There was a knock on his door just as he was folding the letter up to put it in the envelope. Scorpius looked up to find his dad there, leaning against the doorway, a newspaper tucked under his arm. His pale eyes tracked the movement of the envelope as Scorpius pushed it under a pile of papers. 

“You know, Potter had an invisibility cloak when I was at school,” Dad began, out of nowhere. Scorpius jerked at the name, almost spilling his open inkwell all over the carpet. Dad narrowed his eyes at the reaction. 

“He did?” Scorpius asked, tucking his hands under his thighs and trying to sound enthused. 

“Mmm,” Dad said. “I don't have proof, of course, but I don't need any to know that I’m correct. Rest assured, I am older and cleverer now, so I think I’d be able to find proof much more easily this time around.”

He gave Scorpius a very pointed look.

Scorpius sighed, deflating. “Dad, I don't have an invisibility cloak. But if I did, I have no doubt that you’d know about it immediately and have enough proof to convince a court of my guilt.”

“Naturally,” Dad agreed easily, preening a bit as he breezed in and settled on the armchair near Scorpius’s wardrobe. “That wasn’t quite the point, though. The point is, you may as well be wearing one when you’re here.”

Scorpius bit his lip, shifting guiltily. Dad softened his voice, brow crinkled in concern. He wasn’t like this with many people, wasn’t as open with others as he was at home, with his family. 

“We’ve hardly seen you. I know the last year of school is difficult, and exams are tough, but you’re tough too, Scorpius. Isolating yourself won’t help you get through it.”

“I’m not isolating myself,” Scorpius said, thinking privately that he’d never felt less isolated in his life, not since he started talking to Albus. “I just… have a few things to think about.”

It wasn’t quite a lie, but it clearly wasn’t a good enough answer for Draco Malfoy. 

Dad nodded, as though this was only natural, but it was a familiar nod that said quite plainly that humiliation was on the horizon. 

“Oh, of course. I understand. This is a difficult time for a growing boy, after all. A _blossoming_ boy, you could say.”

“No,” Scorpius said instantly. “Someone else could say that, about someone other than me, but you couldn’t. It’s on the list of things that’s banned in this house.”

“Seventeen is a trying time, Scorpius,” Dad continued, with mock sympathy. “Your body is changing, you’re full of confusing emotions, and you’re starting to discover things about yourself.”

Scorpius picked up the quill and loaded it with ink, pointing it threateningly at his beloved parent. “I will use this if you don't stop speaking. And I’ll tell Grandma who ate all of the Christmas pudding last year before she could have any, _and_ who hid her wine.”

“Your grandmother doesn’t scare me,” Dad said, leaning back in the chair with a smirk and crossing one leg daintily over the other. 

“Oh, do I not?” Grandma Narcissa said, as she stepped inside the room with a cup of tea in hand. “Hmm. I must be losing my touch.”

Dad coughed and uncrossed his legs, sitting up straight. “Mother, I didn't see you there.”

Grandma Narcissa arched one eyebrow. “Evidently.”

Scorpius hid a grin. “Hello, Grandma. I like your scarf.”

“Thank you, darling,” Grandma Narcissa said, patting her silky, floral scarf fondly. “I assume your father failed at his interrogation?”

Dad made a rude noise. 

“With a capital F,” Scorpius confirmed, grinning widely now. 

Grandma Narcissa laughed, her eyes crinkling affectionately. “A shocking turn of events, truly. You know he’s only worried, love. We all are. You usually feel comfortable telling us anything.”

Scorpius shifted again. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. I’ll tell you soon?”

“Good enough,” Grandma Narcissa said firmly, nodding as she spoke over Dad’s protests. “I think your mother wants some help in the greenhouse, and Draco, sweetheart, the fireplace is clogged again. Don't worry about that letter, Scorpius, I’ll mail it for you if you like.”

She winked, her eyes twinkling, and took a sip of tea.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello Albus,_

_How did that Transfiguration test go? I had an Alchemy exam and it was awful, I couldn’t remember anything useful. They’re really piling on the mock exams now, I suppose to prepare us for the real thing, but in all honesty it just makes me really stressed. I do well in class, but if I have to have an exam I get hugely anxious and my brain goes blank. It’s silly, I know. I can’t help it though. Dad says we should do mock exams at home to help me get comfortable with them, but mum told him that would just make me stay away from the house even more than usual._

_I think they’ve figured out that I’m writing to someone important, since I spend all my time either in my room or waiting for an owl. And no, I won’t tell you about Hector Von Strudel’s name, it’s not happening, stop asking!_

_The downsides to having Malfoy connections and a Floo connection in your dormitory are that you’re expected to go home every weekend, which means mum and dad both get to pester me about who I’m writing to. They’re trying to be subtle about their interrogations, but honestly I think Grandma would have been a better choice for subterfuge. Grandma is a woman who knows how to get answers._

_Grandma actually was the one who mentioned all the letters in the first place, and made it clear she had an inkling about what was going on. I haven’t spoken about it yet with any of my family, but I think I will soon._

_We were right, it’s so much easier to write letters now that it’s been a while. I liked your description of Hogsmeade, by the way, but your artistry could use some work. One of the shops looked a bit like a large dead bird, so unless it’s really changed since my dad’s time there…_

_You wanted to know about here, I think? It’s sort of great. Beautiful, no doubt. We’re not really allowed to specify where Beauxbatons is, but it’s in France, like I said, and it’s usually cold. I can see mountains sometimes, when I get bored in class and spend it looking out of the window. Everyone expects me not to get bored in class, but I’m seventeen and Madame Allaire really does spit more than she educates. The best part of the school is the grounds. There are big gardens that you can get lost in. I go for walks there during breaks and I draw the flowers, and I study by the silver fountain. Sometimes the fox statue spits water at me, but I think he’s friendly. I don't know. I don't really have much experience with ‘friendly’. Does that make me sound a bit pathetic? I think it probably does, but I have a feeling you won’t judge me._

_There’s a village nearby, I think I mentioned it before. I usually ride my bicycle there, or walk with my classmates if they’re not busy. I know dad was a bit disappointed when I didn't take to flying, but he was very good about not showing it, and brooms have never really interested me. Alright, so they terrify me a bit. I can get somewhere just as fast on a bike and still keep my feet on the ground._

_It’s a pretty village. It has lots of flower-boxes in the windows and it’s quite small and old, but they have a delicious bakery at the end of the main road that sells these really tasty chocolate-pastry-twist-things. Oh, and a sweet shop, although that’s not as large as I’d like it to be! If the explorer thing didn't pan out, my younger self had plans to open up my own sweet shop. I love sweets; I’d eat them for breakfast if I could. My favourite kind are Sugar Quills: the sweeter, the better._

_Tell me more about you? I want to know everything. In the least creepy, overly-familiar way possible._

_Scorpius._

Albus put the letter down and picked up the envelope curiously. It had been thicker than usual, but he’d refrained from looking until he finished reading what Scorpius had to say. Now he shook the contents out over his bed, scattering thin postcards on the covers. 

He plucked one up, biting his lip to hide a slow smile, even though there was nobody about to see. The dormitory was empty, and Albus was behind his curtains, spheres of light drifting all around. 

The postcards were handmade, hand-drawn. Charcoal, graphite, pencil. There was no colour, but Albus could see it all anyway, the green of the grass and the bright pastel softness of the petals of flowers woven around the edges of each square of paper. The blue of the fountain, crystalline and clear. The copper of a metal fox, snout open wide, metal fur rippling as it moved. The cream and mint of the florist that Scorpius cycled past in the village, and the sharp pops of colour from the sweets in the window of the confectionary. A view from a window of people in the street, the cobbles wet with slanting rain, the day grey, the people bright and vivid. 

This was what he liked about Scorpius, Albus thought, tracing one finger over the corner of a rainy day. He made things brighter, and that brightness flooded through Albus and smudged the dark parts of him until they turned grey and indistinct. 

Swallowing, Albus put the postcards down and flopped backwards against his pillows with a sigh. He felt like a dumb, lovesick teenager, and he probably was, in some respect. In all respects, Lily would say, tongue between her teeth, mouth lit up in a smirk. 

Lovesick. That was what this was, this little ache in his joint and seams that craved a very particular sort of company. 

He didn't know what to do with that. There… there might have been a chance, with Scorpius, but he didn't want to let himself think about it. Scorpius lived in France, and Albus didn't. Scorpius was bright and brilliant, and Albus wasn’t. Scorpius was Scorpius, and Albus was Albus, and it felt like a mistake to be upset about that, but he was upset all the same. 

What would it be like, he wondered? If they could just talk together, without parchment and ink in the way. It might be nice. Good. Soft. Or it might be a disaster, a fumbling of words and feelings that didn't quite match up. Maybe he’d built it up too much in his head. Or maybe it would be like it should, not spectacular, not rock-bottom, but something he wouldn’t want to forget. 

Or maybe, Albus thought, punching the pillow beneath his head as the rest of the boys stumbled up the stairs, it wouldn’t be anything. Maybe it wouldn’t happen at all. They wouldn’t meet, they wouldn’t have this chance that hovered over Albus, and that would be that. 

Which meant that the only option he had was to keep writing back.

***

_Hey, Scorp,_

_Sugar Quills, really? Ice Mice win every time. I liked the postcards you added, the flowers were pretty. And the shops, and the rain. I think I’m better at cartoons than anything else, but your sketches were… well, just really pretty. You could go somewhere with that, I think. You’re really, really good. Do you have any more? I’d like to see the things you draw._

_You really want to know about me? Ha, I don't know, maybe that shouldn’t be weird to hear, but it is. I don't - you may have noticed, but I don't have a lot of friends. Or any, really. I have my brother, Jamie, and Lily, my sister, and they’re great. More than great, even if we want to poke each other in the eyes sometimes. But I’m not close with anyone else._

_It’s a good weird though, to hear that from you. So you already know about Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, and you know that I’m bad at lots of classes, and I don't really do well in exams. I like Potions, though, I think I said that a billion times before. I like making new potions, but they haven’t been very successful so far. There’s this Potions Apprenticeship in Diagon Alley that I’ve been meaning to send an application too, but I keep putting it off. I do that a lot. I think it’s because if I don't send it, they can’t say no. But they can’t say yes, either, obviously, so I’m stuck over what to do._

_Uh, I tried to play the violin for like, a week, a few years ago, during the summer. I spent the whole time making horrible screeching sounds and driving mum mad, and then I came out of my room on day seven and everyone applauded when I chucked the thing in the bin. I had to dig it out to give it to Roxie, my cousin, because violins aren’t cheap, but the thought was there. Violin isn’t really my thing, but music is amazing in general. I have loads of bands I want to see, some wizarding ones and some Muggle ones. Guitar’s my favourite instrument, I think, the soft acoustic ones, but people who play piano are just brilliant and - actually, anyone with any musical skill is brilliant._

_I like Ice Mice, and I hate Pumpkin Juice - it tastes weird, I’d rather have lemon or orange squash, the Muggle stuff. Uh, there’s this record store in London that I really like to go to in the summer because they have cheap records that are usually hard to find. I’m afraid of fire and bugs. I don't want to end up the family disappointment, but I feel like it’s going to happen anyway because everyone around me is so bright and brilliant, that it’s hard to feel important or worth anything. Sprouts need to be punished. I really don't want a desk job, and people in general are hard to deal with. I’m… kind of negative? You may have noticed that. But I don't always feel that way inside, and I kind of like who I am, I just wish I was better at stuff. It’s hard to get the right words out of my head and into the air, or onto the paper._

_That’s probably not what you meant when you asked me that, ha! But it’s easy to talk to you. Some of that stuff I haven’t told anybody. There’s lots of stuff I keep to myself, which I don't mind usually, but I really like talking to you. There’s another fact about me for you: I really like talking to you, and I hope you won’t stop talking to me._

_Tell me about you? If you still want to,_

_Albus._

_P.S. Why did you hate your owl so much that you named him that? I’m going to keep asking._

Scorpius didn't have much experience with the kind of ache he felt at the moment, the one making a home for itself in his chest. It was almost impossible to read Albus’s letter, if only because Albus wasn’t there for him to reassure or soothe. He sort of wanted to hold him, this boy he’d never met, and never stop holding him, and the revelation was terrifying, but not as surprising as it should have been. 

He bit his lip, tidying things away on his desk that didn't need tidying. If he looked out the window, he could see his mum and dad out in the garden, near the Greenhouse, laughing with each other. Mum had a flower in her hair and dirt on her cheek, her dungarees rolled up to her knees. Dad was smarter, more put-together, but his affection was no less soft. 

If he was honest, he’d known about the loving-boys thing for a while. He’d even hinted at it a few times, just to see what kind of reaction he might get, but there was nothing. He didn't know if they knew or didn't know or approved or disapproved and it scared him, definitely, but he was more scared about letting Albus know. His parents and his Grandma would never, ever get rid of him. They wouldn’t shun him. Dad had made that clear on several hundred occasions. They might be disappointed, and urge him to keep being gay quiet, but he wouldn’t lose them.

He could very well lose Albus. 

“He said that his brother loved a boy, Teddy Lupin,” Scorpius told Hector. Hector blinked at him, completely unconcerned with Scorpius’s trifling matters of the heart. “But that’s different, isn’t it? That’s two boys - or men, or something - loving each other, not a boy loving Albus. Oh, bloody hell.”

He collapsed into his chair. It didn't matter, he told himself firmly. 

“Except it does matter,” Scorpius said softly, feeling that ache all over again. “It matters and I don't know what to do about it.”

Hector hooted softly. Scorpius was sure that it was sound advice, where birds were concerned. With a sigh, he picked up his quill and nibbled the tip for a moment. Every time he’d written to Albus in the past, he hadn’t put much thought in it. He just wrote what he wanted to write, giddy with it all. 

“Well there’s no need to break the script, is there?” Scorpius said, lightly stroking the quill down Hector’s feathers. A soft, reproachful hoot was his only response. Hector ruffled his wings and then took off, ducking out of the open window, presumably to bother Grandma Narcissa, who always carried a handful of treats about her person for good, advice-giving owls.

***

_Albus Severus Potter,_

_You’re not allowed to write things that make me want to be near you. I forbid it. Okay, I don't forbid it, but still. It’s hard to read about how you feel and not be able to instantly reassure you. You couldn’t possibly disappoint me, or anyone in the world, but I know how you feel. I know it’s easy for me to say that you couldn’t disappoint me, and harder for you to believe it, but please try. This isn’t pity, by the way, or any other bad feeling. I loved your letter, and of course I still want to talk to you. I don't think you know how much. You’re easy for me to talk to, too._

_I can talk about me. I collect things, like corks and stamps. I collect letters and wax seals too, now. I have them all on a corkboard on my wall, and the wax seals are all in the very first envelope you sent me. Sorry if you find that strange. Mum says I like to hoard memories, like a dragon. Dad just smiles when he sees the things I’ve kept. Grandma calls me a pensieve, which is inaccurate but oddly sweet._

_Okay, about me. I like Sugar Quills, and I really want a Kneazle, but dad won’t let me have one. Says they malt. There’s a woodland area on the outskirts of the chateau where Grandma lives nearby, and the trees are always full of fruit no matter the season. I’d like to take you there, one day, where the apples grow in winter. Horses terrify me, and I used to be afraid of the dark. My family are wonderful, and I love them, but the rest of the world doesn’t, and I don't know what to do with that. I don't want to disappoint them either, in any way. I feel like I have to be the best Malfoy I can possibly be, to make up for all the bad things that came before. So there’s things I can’t tell them yet, things I feel like I’m not allowed to be. Sprouts shouldn’t be punished, but parsnips should._

_This letter isn’t as long as I’d like it to be, but I hope that’s okay. I just… I feel a bit nervous about sending it off to you. I shouldn’t be. It’s a good kind of nervous, I think. I know you’ll read between the lines of what I said, because you’re smart, Albus, and maybe not in the way everyone expects, or in the way you think you have to be - but you don't have to be good at school to know people off by heart. So I know you’ll know what I mean by all this. I just hope you like what you found._

_Goodness, I sound dramatic. I suppose there’s not much I can do about it now. I have to go and stop my dad from attempting to cook dinner. Wish me luck, I have Alchemy first thing in the morning,_

_Scorpius._

_P.S. Hector Von Strudel is a private, independent owl, and his business will not be shared unless he deems it prudent. Stop asking!_

***

_Scorpius,_

 _I took longer than I wanted to send this letter. I had to think about things, and then I realised it was mean to leave you waiting after you said so much stuff. Important stuff._

_Firstly, you’re not a disappointment. Never, not to anybody. The way you talk about your family tells me that they love you to pieces, and you couldn’t disappoint them, and since you’ve branded me the expert on people, I have the final say here. So maybe talk to them. Or send them a letter, that’s worked out pretty well for us._

_I don't find it strange that you want to keep what we have, or collect it, or hoard it, or whatever you’re doing. I still have all your letters too._

_You’ll have to take me to those woods one day. Read between the lines of that._

_You’re allowed to be whatever you want. Something I’m still learning is that you’re still whatever it is you’re afraid of sharing with the world, no matter how hard you try to keep it a secret. People can’t make you into something else, but they can try and make you hide it. And sometimes we do the same thing to ourselves, when we shouldn’t. So, yeah. Just… I like you as you, and all that._

_I want to write more, but I told you it’s hard to get the words out of my head. But yeah, you’ll have to take me to those woods one day. I’d really like that. Especially in winter, so I can see where the apples grow even when it’s cold._

_I hope Alchemy class went okay,_

_Albus._


	4. Chapter 4

_Scorpius,_

_I thought of you today. I mean, I think of you a lot, but I thought of you today because I saw something. Everyone has to take one Muggle Studies class a week, to make sure the things that happened in the past don't happen again. The Professors say that if we have a greater understanding of the Muggle World, there will be less ignorance, less hatred. I’m not sure that works unless it goes both ways, though. Anyway, that’s not the point. We take trips, sometimes. Not very far, but we do take trips to places of Muggle importance, you know._

_We went to Belfast, to the Harbour. It’s right next to this museum about the Titanic, which is that ship that sank when it hit an iceberg years ago. The Unsinkable Ship, or something like that. Professor Litworth gave a big speech about how we’ve learned since then, how we strengthened our ships, how tragedies like that don't happen on that scale anymore. That’s not why I thought of you, I just thought you’d like the smart part of it too._

_We made paper boats and sailed them in the Harbour, and we had to try and strengthen them using Muggle items, rather than magic. The last one still floating was the winner. I didn't win - Pandorea Parkinson won and was really smug about it - but that’s not the point either. I think you would have liked the bit at the end, when we all sat and watched the water. Professor Litworth put spells up to keep us out of sight, so it was just my class, and I saw off to the side and I watched all the paper boats float on the water._

_Tiny little boats, in a sea of bigger ships. There was sunlight everywhere, and it was kinda cold but still nice, and I thought of you. I think you would have liked it. I bet you would have come up with the winning boat. I wish you could have been there to draw it, and see it with me._

_Is that weird? Maybe it’s too weird, but I just… I do feel like I know you now. And I like all the stuff I know. So I guess I’m trying to say that if I ever met you, for real, in real life, and you were standing right there in front of me… well I think I’d really like that._

_Albus_

***

_Albus,_

_Are you saying what I think you’re saying? I’d really like that too. I’d really, really like that, in fact, but I want to make sure that I’m not just reading into things._

_I hope you like the picture,_

_Scorpius._

***

_Scorpius,_

_We’ve been writing for a while now. I could keep writing to you like this forever if you like, but I’d like to meet you? It’s nearly Christmas break. I don't know if you do Christmas, but I always go home rather than staying at school. I know my family wouldn’t mind, though, if I wasn’t there for all of it. I’m of age, anyway, so I can just go even if they do mind. Or you could come here. Or something!_

_We could work it out, if you really do want to meet me?_

_I love the picture. I love all of your drawings. The tiny boats are perfect. Is the little sinking one mine?_

_Albus._

***

_Albus,_

 __Do you even have to ask? Of course I want to meet you. And I did promise you that walk, didn't I? It’s winter, like you said.

_All the drawings I send you, all the postcards? They kind of only exist because of you, so it’s good that you love them, I think._

_Scorpius._

***

Albus bounced nervously on the balls of his feet, hands in his jacket pockets as he lingered by the fridge. He had made an effort, this morning, to look better than usual. He was wearing his best jeans - still black, but without any holes in, and a soft, thick green jumper under his favourite jacket. He had lingered on the idea of robes, but he only really had school robes, and stuffy wasn’t the first impression he wanted to make.

He had been up, dressed, teeth brushed, hair tamed, breakfast anxiously devoured by quarter past eight that morning. He knew his family were a bit alarmed by the strange behaviour. 

Albus didn’t care. He was meeting Scorpius today. 

“Albus,” Mum said, raising an amused eyebrow. “Got skrewts in your pants? What’s going on?”

“Yeah,” James chimed in, through a mouthful of cereal, “you’re never up this early. Usually takes a hoist to drag you out of bed. You didn't even get up this early yesterday, and yesterday was Christmas.”

“You don't even live here anymore,” Albus said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “You don't get to judge my sleeping habits.”

“As much as I hate to agree with our darling brother, he’s right,” Lily said, squinting at him thoughtfully. “You brushed your _hair._ ”

The kitchen came to a pause. Dad drifted closer, coffee mug held loosely in one hand as he peered at Albus’s curls. They were still messy, but a little softer than usual, a little less all-over-the-place. 

“Huh,” Dad said. “You’re going somewhere.”

Albus scowled at him, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face for long. It crept shyly across his mouth until it was a full -blown beam. 

“Well,” Mum said, clearly surprised. 

“The world is ending,” Lily said dramatically. 

“Well fuck me,” James put in, to which Mum slapped him on the arm, sending milk and cornflakes scattering all over the table. 

“Going anywhere nice?” Dad asked, shuffling around Albus to get to the fridge. Albus let him get the butter out for his toast, chewing on his lip as he thought about how to word it. 

“Uh,” Albus said. “France?”

James and Mum stopped squabbling immediately. Dad accidentally sunk his knife into his coffee rather than the butter, blinking up at him in surprise. Lily’s eyes widened, and she snorted, before clapping her hands over her mouth. 

“You’re going where?” James demanded, sounding a bit like a demented pigeon. 

Mum winced. “Not so loud, Jamie. Albus, sweetheart, what are you talking about?”

“Yeah, I probably should have mentioned it sooner?” Albus cringed at the sea of deadpan looks levelled his way. “I didn't want to start Christmas with a fight. I, uh… I made a friend? Through the Hogwarts and Beauxbatons Owl Exchange thing. And they live in France.”

Lily squealed suddenly. “You wrote back! Oh Merlin, that explains so much! You’ve been really weird and happy all term!”

Albus scowled at her, but the grin crept back again. “I did, yeah. They’re really great, and we talked about it, and we want to meet, so I have a Portkey to France in about twenty minutes.”

James whistled, grinning proudly as he leaned back in his seat like the obnoxious moron he was. “You don't do things by halves, do you? Little baby brother, all grown up and making friends! It’s about time.”

“Do you ever think that maybe it’s comments like that,” Mum said drily, “that drive your siblings off to France?”

“Al,” Dad said quietly, fishing his knife out of his coffee. “You can’t just go off to France on your own. We don't know anything about this person. _You_ don't know anything about this person! How do we know it’s safe?”

“Technically, we can’t stop him,” Mum said, looking both horrified and amused by this point. “He’s of age.”

“In the Wizarding World, yeah!” Dad said. “Not in the Muggle World! And that doesn’t mean he’s suddenly safe! We know nothing about these people he’s going to stay with!”

“You do, actually,” Albus said, with great reluctance. This was the part he was most worried about. Not that it would make a difference because he was getting that Portkey no matter what they had to say, but he would rather go with a hug that an argument. 

Dad stopped jerking his arms about and swivelled to stare at Albus. “I do?”

Albus squirmed, glancing at Mum. She had a wry look in her eye, like she could quite easily see the burning, breaking engine that was crashing down the track towards them, but she didn't offer any help. 

“Yeah,” Albus said, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket. “It’s, uh… do you know Draco Malfoy?”

James flailed so hard that he knocked his entire bowl over. Lily vanished the mess with an open mouth. Mum didn't seem to have anything to say, but that blank face didn't bode well. Dad just stared, unblinking, jaw tight. 

“I know Draco Malfoy,” Dad said suddenly, his voice very strained. “I know that you know that, so everyone here knows that we know Draco Malfoy. It’s very hard to forget about him once you’ve met him. I also know that he shouldn’t be sending letters to a seventeen-year-old Hogwarts Student.”

“It’s his son,” Albus said quickly. “Scorpius Malfoy. I’m going to meet him, in France. Where he lives, because he does actually go to Beauxbatons and he is allowed to send letters to seventeen-year-olds because he’s seventeen too.”

He had a feeling he was rambling. He clamped his mouth shut to avoid any further embarrassment. 

“I mean, it could be worse,” Mum offered, after a moment. “It could be Lucius.”

“Oh, don't even joke about that,” Dad said, groaning. He collapsed against the counter with a ragged sigh and started massaging his temples. 

“You really don't do anything by halves,” James said, sounding half a second away from pissing himself with laughter. Albus surreptitiously flipped him off. Lily was already giggling, her expression bright. 

“I knew you’d been feeling better!” Lily said. “Less grumpy than usual, less stressed. I haven't seen you smile that much in years, and all of my friends noticed too. Rebecca said you looked hot when you smiled, so I had to Jinx her shoelaces together.”

“Lily,” Albus hissed. 

“I can’t believe we have Scorpius Malfoy to thank for that,” Lily said, grinning widely. The words settled all around them, and Dad went from looking despairing to looking begrudgingly curious in the space of a minute. 

“Lily, James, would you mind eavesdropping from the hallway for a moment?” Mum said. 

“It’s less fun if you remind us that you know about it,” James pointed out, but he got up and kissed her cheek anyway, snatching the box of cornflakes off the table as he left. “Come along, Lils! Breakfast on the stairs sounds like a good band name.”

“If any of those cornflakes end up down my shirt, I will Hex your balls off and Transfigure them into a nice pair of earrings,” Lily said pleasantly, as she followed him out of the room. She paused at the doorway to blow a kiss at Albus. Albus couldn’t find it in him to hate them for leaving him alone.

“My Portkey leaves in twelve minutes,” Albus said into the silence.

“Bloody hell,” Mum said, laughing. Her warm, brown eyes fixed on him, and she looked so fond that Albus ducked his head, feeling about three years old and shy again. 

“Albus,” Dad said, “I may not know Scorpius, but I do know Draco Malfoy. He’s not the kind of person I feel comfortable with you staying with.”

“Do you know that he’s not allowed to cook?” Albus blurted out. Dad’s eyebrows went up, so Albus hastily continued. “On pain of death, Scorpius said, because he’s really smart and good at potions but he sucks at domestic stuff. And he keeps sunflowers in his wife’s greenhouse. And he helps his mum darn socks and yeah, complains about it, but still does it.”

Dad’s eyes looked worryingly large. “Er. No, I didn't know any of that.”

“I just…” Albus chewed his lip for a moment. “How long has it been since you last saw him? Scorpius said they’ve lived in France for years, now, since before he started school, so you can’t say you know him when you haven’t talked to him in that long.”

Dad eyed him. “How many times have you practiced these arguments in your head?”

“Pretty much since the first time I wrote back to Scorpius,” Albus said. He hesitated, and then shrugged. “I almost didn't write back. I knew nobody would like it, but I didn't know who wrote the letter until I got down to the bottom, and I really liked what I read before that. It was funny and a bit awkward and just nice. And then I found out it was Scorpius, and that he was a Malfoy, and I knew you’d be mad. So I almost didn't write back.”

“But you did,” Mum said, sort of gently. “Even though you were afraid of our reaction. Which quite clearly shows that you’re not going to stop being friends with this boy just because of what we think.”

Albus shook his head slowly, scuffing one foot against the ground. “No, I… I really like him. A lot.”

“Gay!” James shouted from the hallway, voice muffled by the walls. 

Albus jumped, and then swore out of frustration while his parents sighed. There was a thump and a wounded sound from the hallway. 

“It’s okay, Albus, I punched him for you,” Lily called. “But just for the record, that really is very gay and we love you for it!”

Albus laughed quietly. Dad looked up at the sound, brows furrowed. 

“You know, Lily’s right about something,” Dad said. “You really have seemed happier these past few days.”

“Which is what we want,” Mum added firmly. “We’re not going to tell you that you can’t be friends with him, obviously, because you’re not a toddler and neither are we. But you’re still my son, which means I want you safe. This was set up by the schools, which means the people involved are who they say they are, if we trust McGonagall, which we definitely do.”

“Going to France alone wasn’t set up by the schools,” Dad put in flatly. Albus shuffled around until he could look straight up at him, which was always hard to do. Harry Potter was larger than life to the rest of the world. He was a hero and a powerful saviour, and he defeated death twice. To Albus, Harry Potter was a Dad who cooked really nice meals and bumbled around in his garden, someone who told bad jokes at family events to embarrass his kids and who drunk too much mulled wine one year and danced right into one of Uncle George’s new and improved Magical Swamps. 

All of that didn't mean that Albus wasn’t afraid to look at him sometimes, afraid that he would be seen and measured by green eyes so akin to his own, and fall short. 

“Dad, you and mum fought a war at seventeen. Well, mum was younger, actually, and she still kicked arse,” Albus said, and the quiet cough from the table told him that the arse-kicker in question had stifled a laugh. “You were fighting battles, wars, literal murderers, all on your own when you were my age. I’m going to France to stay at a mansion with a good friend and eat sweets, and you’re all at the other end of the Floo. It’s not as bad as it looks in your head.”

Dad narrowed his eyes at Albus. 

“Did your Aunt Hermione coach you on this?”

“No, but I did take some of her old advice on board,” Albus admitted, shrugging. “Her lectures are kinda boring, but some of them stick in my head. I know Scorpius would probably love to listen to her talk for hours, though. He’s smart like that.”

Dad’s mouth twitched. “Yeah?”

Albus nodded. 

Dad sighed explosively. “I want addresses and numbers, if they have them, and I want to know that you’ve arrived safely as soon as you’ve arrived. How long are you there for?”

“A couple of days,” Albus said, a bit shell-shocked, sending a wide-eyed look at Mum, who grinned back at him. “At least three. Scorpius’s grandma has a Muggle landline, and I have the number here. Mrs Malfoy’s coming with Scorpius to greet the Portkey, so she can send a Patronus to make sure you know I’ve arrived?”

“Bloody hell,” Dad muttered, rubbing at his temples again. “I’m getting a Muggle phone call from Narcissa Malfoy. Give me the number then, and then you better get ready, or you’re going to miss your Portkey.”

Albus let out a somewhat crazed, delighted laugh and scrambled for the bit of paper in his pocket. The next few minutes were a whirlwind of activity as he grabbed his bags, already packed, and the old quill that hadn’t quite started to glow yet. James conjured a handkerchief and faked a few sobs, waving him off, but he also crushed Albus in a hug and muttered a bunch of cheesy, well-intentioned stuff in his ear. Lily kissed him on the cheek and told him to ‘go get him.’

Mum gave him a tight hug, tucked a carton of juice in his pocket for the sick feeling at the other end and patted his cheek. “Borrow Narcissa’s phone when you get a chance. I need to give you an updated version of the safe sex talk, and we don't have enough time right now for all the important details.”

Albus hissed and tried to run, but Dad caught him next, pulling him into a hug that said more than words could. 

“I’m not going to my grave,” Albus said, voice muffled by Dad’s shoulder, but he clung on for a few seconds anyway. 

“Hmm,” Dad said, releasing him. “Just be good, careful, and safe.”

“And have fun,” Lily added. 

“Lots of fun,” James said, leering. 

“A moderate amount of fun,” Dad said, batting them away while Mum winked at Albus in the background. 

Albus couldn’t even find it in him to feel nervous as the quill started to glow, and the Portkey whisked him away, leaving him with a lasting impression of James’s blasted handkerchief waving mournfully through the air.


	5. Chapter 5

Snow crunched underneath their boots. Thin strokes of brown dirtied the pale sky as they walked underneath the low-hanging tree branches. The woods were always this way, always bright and silent, full of crisp, clean weather. The fruit that hung in the leaves was ripe, always. 

Scorpius hadn’t felt this nervous about anything in his whole life, but the nerves had calmed a little when they stepped into the woods. Albus was beside him. Albus Severus Potter was beside him. 

He looked different to how Scorpius had pictured him in his head. But not a bad different. His skin was a bit darker than Scorpius had imagined, and he had a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks that he’d failed to mention. Really thick eyelashes, too, and lots of puffy hair, curly and windswept. His eyes were green, wide and bright. 

He swung his hands when he walked. He was pretty, and quiet, and he hadn’t laughed yet, but Scorpius hoped he would just so he could hear the sound. Scorpius couldn’t stop _staring._

“Is this weird for you?” Albus asked suddenly, turning his head slightly to look at him. Scorpius immediately looked away, stumbling over a root and watching with a resigned sort of dread as the floor rushed towards him.

Hands wrapped around his wrist and waist, yanking him safely to the side and up. 

“Shit, sorry!” Albus said, sounding panicked. He was very warm and very close, and the tip of his nose was pink. “I didn't mean to surprise you, I just meant, is it weird that we’re being quiet, and should I be talking more? But apparently I shouldn’t talk more if it’s gonna make you fall over.”

A tiny laugh slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. Albus stopped speaking and looked at him, almost like he couldn’t believe what he heard. Scorpius could feel himself turning red, and he was very aware of how close they were. 

“I like this,” Scorpius said quietly. “The talking or the not talking, I don't mind. I just like that you’re here. I can’t believe you’re _here.”_

“Me neither,” Albus said. When he grinned, it was a brilliant thing, shy but toothy. “I didn't think you’d want to meet me.”

Scorpius scoffed. “I thought the same thing. I think I’m going to have to forbid us from thinking.”

There. There was the laugh. Scorpius held his breath as Albus dropped his hands, letting go, ducking his head like he wanted to hide but still laughing. 

“You do a lot of forbidding, I noticed,” Albus teased. He started walking again, and Scorpius hurried to follow. They drifted a little closer as they stepped over roots and trudged through slushy snow. 

“How did your family react?” Scorpius asked. “My Dad’s still recovering from shock, I think, but Grandma has wine, so he might be alright by the time we get back. Whatever he was expecting, I don't think it was this. Mum likes that I had someone to stay, and Grandma was the one who sorted the Portkey, so she already knew.”

“Yeah, mine were okay,” Albus said, shrugging. “I thought it would be worse. Dad was a bit freaked out, but he calmed down soon enough.”

“More alike than they know, then,” Scorpius said. He winced, and added, “Maybe we won’t tell them that.”

“Maybe not,” Albus said, laughing again. It really was a beautiful sound, and it seemed to fill the whole woods. 

“There was some stuff, in one of your letters,” Albus said, sounding abruptly hesitant. “Some reading-between-the-lines stuff. Did you… I mean, did you get a chance to talk to your family about that?”

Scorpius bit his lip, rolling it around his teeth. Albus’s eyes dipped down to his mouth and then resolutely went back to his eyes. They stopped walking again, standing under a thicker tree, apples above them, snow beneath. Scorpius flushed. 

“I think they may have an idea, this time,” Scorpius said. He wanted to say more, that they had guessed how important Albus was, that they thought - perhaps wrongly - that this was them getting together, that Albus was more than a friend. There were no explicit conversations, but he had no doubt there would be over the next few days. 

He didn't want Albus to think he was expecting anything though. He didn't want to start it all off with a rejection, even though a small kernel of hope was popping around in his chest. 

“I only told them you were coming this morning,” Scorpius added, when Albus didn't say much. “I think they’re still processing.”

Albus’s mouth twitched. “Is this another read-between-the-lines thing?”

Scorpius felt a bit like the conversation had hitched up its skirts and was dashing away from him. He flailed one arm about cluelessly, and sucked in a breath when Albus caught his wrist and held it gently. 

Scorpius gathered his courage. “It could be? If you wanted it to be? Or it could be exactly like this.”

Albus’s ears turned red when he was embarrassed, Scorpius noted faintly. Or maybe just when he was nervous. 

“I’m not usually this brave,” Albus said, swinging their hands together lightly. “I just… you’re easy to talk to, like I said. I think you’re my best friend, but I also… I’d like more. If that’s something I can have, or something you want. If not, I don't mind, I can walk over there awkwardly for a bit like I saw a squirrel in distress and then come back and pretend like nothing happened.”

Another tiny laugh escaped Scorpius, a bit of a giggle really, and Albus did the same stunned double-take, like he was in awe. 

“I like when you ramble,” Scorpius said, feeling strangely breathless. “You don't do that in letters.”

“There’s a lot of things I don't do in letters that I could do now,” Albus pointed out. It would have been smooth if it weren’t for the way his eyebrows creased up helplessly and his eyes widened, like his mouth was saying things without his permission. Scorpius giggled again. 

“I think I’d like those things just as much as the rambling,” Scorpius said, and he leaned in, toes pressed together through their thick boots, and kissed Albus. 

It was cold all around them, flakes of snow falling from the sky, but Albus’s mouth was warm, and then hot. They pressed into each other, not shy the way their words were. Scorpius put a clumsy hand on his jaw and let Albus hold his other one, and he could feel the way Albus inhaled sharply at the touch. 

Scorpius drew back slightly and stayed there, noses not quite brushing. He got to watch Albus’s eyes open slowly, got to study the colour in his cheeks and the pretty red tint to his mouth. Snowflakes peppered his eyelashes. Scorpius had to kiss him again. 

“I definitely liked that,” Scorpius said, when he drew back again. Albus nodded heavily, his hand sliding around Scorpius’s waist, a warm, welcome weight that sent a shudder up his spine. “Better than Sugar Quills.”

Albus pretended to think about it for a moment. “Ice Mice are pretty important to me, you know. I think I need more evidence before I make a decision.”

Scorpius made an indignant sound, grinning, and leaned back in to kiss him again, harder this time, holding his face with both hands and licking at Albus’s bottom lip briefly. He felt a shudder of magic all around him, and heard the thunk of fruit hitting snow as apples fell from the trees. 

He started snickering against Albus’s mouth, and Albus pinched his side lightly, pulling back. 

“Shut up,” Albus grumbled. “That doesn’t mean anything, I’m just terrible at magic.”

“Not all magic,” Scorpius said softly. He thought of letters and potions and words that he kept in his chest for when he needed them. He thought of that laugh, which was a kind of magic, all on its own. He wondered what Albus was thinking of. 

Albus’s shy smile was enough to make Scorpius’s heart trip over itself. Albus kissed him this time. 

The woods muffled their sounds.

***

“Not all magic,” Scorpius said softly. His voice was soft, sure. Albus clung tighter, hands feeling at home in the curves of his waist. He thought of charms and letters and a sweet ache that still nestled in his bones. He thought of postcards full of flowers, a magic he inspired. 

He smiled shyly, and kissed Scorpius for the first time.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the 2018 HP Next Gen Fest. The creator will be revealed on November 30.


End file.
